


Without You

by Virtual_Reality



Series: Steve and Bucky through the years [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, M/M, Masturbation, POV Bucky Barnes, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Separation Anxiety, World War II, not really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 07:37:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3683643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Virtual_Reality/pseuds/Virtual_Reality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>May revisit this one at the month's end, but until then, it will remain gloriously imperfect.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Without You

**Author's Note:**

> May revisit this one at the month's end, but until then, it will remain gloriously imperfect.

Bucky settled into the damp darkness of his tent, trying to find a comfortable spot. He hated how lonely he was these days, how much trouble he had sleeping alone - how much trouble he had sleeping at all... It is true what people say about missing things more when you lose them, Bucky had known he'd miss Steve from the moment he found the draft notice in the mail. He just didn't know the variety of ways in which it would be painful.

It was good that Steve wasn't here. Bucky had known from the start that it wouldn't be a friendly place, especially for an asthmatic, but over and over, he's proved right. The cold damp ground would have him miserably sick overnight, and Bucky couldn't bear to watch him suffer like that. Especially when the means for doctoring him back to health were so scarce, and the chances of survival, even dimmer.

He was alright just knowing Steve was safe, and it wasn't so bad over here, all things considered. Bucky had been very lucky, he had already watched so many soldiers fall. Fellas he'd come to know, gone too soon. Fellas with families, some with children, taken by war. The thought of loss made him miss Steve desperately. Especially at night.

During the day he had enough to occupy his mind - dozens and dozens of soldiers to look out for. But when he lay alone at night, his thoughts drifted back to Steve. The way he looked when he slept curled up against Bucky, his impossibly long eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks. His pretty pink lips parted just a bit, his breath, soft and warm against Bucky's chest. When he was awake, his eyes were bright and beautiful, filled with love, and his lips, full and pouty, and perfect. Always beggin' to be kissed... Oh, and his smile... It could melt Bucky. And that perfect, tiny body. It hurts to think about Steve. It caused Bucky physical pain, the kind that felt like it was burning his heart, filling his lungs with smoke, and his eyes with tears. But it hurt not to think about him, too. Not that he could help it.

Bucky got a letter from Steve after a couple weeks, and it was such a shock, Bucky couldn't even react at first. He saved it until he could be alone, and with shaky hands, he opened it, and read. He was so glad to hear from Steve, to hear that he was warm and safe in Brooklyn, it gave him strength to keep going, though it also seemed to start the pain fresh, and he was weak, and tired, and misty eyed by the close. Steve had done a swell job keeping his affection to a safe level in the note, he must know how often the letters are intercepted, but bless his heart, Steve wasn't taking it well either. Bucky kept the letter in his chest pocket where he knew it wouldn't be damaged, though the edges were getting a little worn from so many reads.

Bucky finds safe ways to manage his homesickness. He talks to people, he writes to Steve, he remembers, though it still hurts to remember, but it's nothing compared to the pain of forgetting. He'd seen it, the trauma of war damaging memories. Suppressing them, driving people mad. So he goes over things in his mind to keep himself sharp, because he can't forget anything. He can't let himself go like that. Never.

Song lyrics, directions, addresses, birthdays, letters, conversations, anything he has to exercise his mind. But he mostly thinks of Steve, because Steve is all he has, and he knows that he can't forget him.

He remembers the exact shade of his eyes, and the exact curve of his mouth. He remembers his hands, and his long graceful fingers. He remembers how they feel laced through his, and holds onto that thought when he's sad. Very little can help like the memory of the small things.

Steve sitting in his lap, his lips on his neck... Oh, how Bucky missed that. He just missed everything, but lying here in his tent, all alone, Bucky lets his mind fill with these thoughts of wide blue eyes, and soft kisses, and for the first time in months, the thoughts are welcome. He longs for the escape, ans he lets them take him home.

He'd been tempted to take a nurse to bed when they got back to base, he's not going to lie. he wanted to. it would be nice, he knows it would, but it wouldn't fill the void. It wouldn't make things better, and he'd only regret it later. So here he was, in his tent, trying to summon up a memory so he can take care of this himself.

At first it's just physical, rubbing himself through his fatigues, letting his mind drift from thought to thought. It's the memory of Steve touching himself that finally does it for him. He draws in a breath through clenched teeth as the heat of arousal seeped into his body. The swell of Bucky's erection pressed against his palm, and he let his eyes close, listening for any sounds outside the tent, before unfastening his cargo pants, and tugging the zipper down. He let his fingers tease himself through his cotton briefs for a moment, his thoughts wandering back to Steve.

Damn, he missed Steve so much. Missed the way they fit together, the way Steve would press himself impossibly closer when they were cuddling, and ultimately pull Bucky on top of him, insisting fiercely that he could handle it, craving Bucky's weight on his body as a tangible reality of his presence.

And Steve's lips on his neck... Oh, how Bucky missed that. Their last night together, how perfect it was. How unreal it seemed, that it had actually happened. He remembers it often, that whole day. Probably a bit more often than necessary, Bucky thought, given all that they'd been through, that he chose this memory to relive, but it was special. A step that meant everything, and at the same time, nothing. In a way, it was a promise. A promise Bucky hoped he'd be able to keep. He still had hope he'd see Steve again.

Steve, naked, and straddling his hips. His own erection pressed against Steve's ass, the look of quiet curiosity that spread over his Steve's beautiful face. The shy flush that replaced that look when Bucky let his fingers caress his thigh, slowly inching his way to Steve's hardness.

The way Steve's small body had arched when Bucky touched him, how his head had tilted back, eyes squeezing shut, lips parted and trembling, a deep groan escaping his throat. His collarbones, his chest, his waist, his hips, his arms, delicate wrists, and strong hands with long, talented fingers, his legs, wrapped around his waist, holding him close, all there to be touched, appreciated by him, the only one who'd seen him this way.

Bucky shoved his underwear out of his way, taking himself in hand, and stroking himself. He wanted to draw this out, allow himself to enjoy the slow sweet build of pleasure, the flood of memories guiding his touch.

When he'd taken Steve. In that precious moment of vulnerability. Steve's eyes had been shimmering with tears, a few trickling down his cheeks as he pressed in, but still his eyes stayed locked on him, wide and innocent, and beautiful.

The weight of the tension between them was tangible, dripping with emotion, and on instinct, he had started comforting Steve. Kissing away his tears, his arousal momentarily clouded by his affection for the other man. He loved how much that night had meant to him, and every feeling was special. The fear, the love, the pleasure. All of it.

After that, when Steve had adjusted he'd pulled him in, kissing him passionately on the lips, with a fierce need that Bucky would never forget.

It wasn't possible for him to forget.

He'd started to move then, slowly, rocking his hips just a little, his every sense attuned to Steve, the subtlest tightening of his fingers, the raggedness of his breath, his name on Steve's lips like a prayer, just like it had been when he was fingering himself for Bucky.

Bucky held his breath, stifling a gasp, trying to keep at least a vague awareness of his surroundings through the haze of arousal. Steve knew what it did to him when he used James' real name. He tightened his fist: faster, firmer strokes. Yes.

Steve, spread out beneath him, sweat clinging to his flushed skin, his pretty body, exhorted, rocking with each of Bucky's thrusts, writhing against the sheets. He whimpered, his breath caught in a soft cry, and Bucky could only wonder how close he must have been to be this completely, beautifully undone in his pleasure.

When he'd gazed into his eyes, when steve had kissed him, when he finished, the final moments, arching, and gasping. His breath hitched, nearly silent, but oh, so beautiful.

Bucky had to stifle a moan at the memory, he remembered that moment with striking clarity. How Steve had clenched around him, impossibly tighter. The expression on his face: his eyebrows pinched together, lips trembling, almost looking pained.

He regrets the gap in his memory where his own finish was, but this was enough. This was beautiful.

Bucky grit his teeth, holding onto the memory, quickening his pace as he felt the edge of his finish approach. He was dizzy, the sensation tingling over his skin, but centering at his groin, clenching, tightening, stretching taut until he felt the edge. Not as good as it was with Steve: never as good. But enough for now. His pulse was loud in his ears, his muscles ached with the strain, and his mind was on Steve. Sweat dripped down his body, matting in his hair, and then, all the pent up tension, taut and throbbing in his body, spilled over in a sudden surge of pleasure.

Bucky arched, and for a moment, was completely taken by the pleasure. For a moment, the whole world was blotted from his mind. Sound all blurred together. The intensity took his breath. The heat engulfed him, and the pleasure overtook him, leaving him trembling, gasping silent breaths, the pulses of ecstasy, one after another drawing him into a drowsy, blissful disembodiment.

And for a moment, his mind, and heart were with Steve. Warm, and safe, and comfortable. Back in Brooklyn, curled up in his bed, and Steve was whispering to him, "Shut up, I'm mad at you."

His mouth quirked into a smile. How could he love anyone as much as he loved Steve. He was so, incredibly perfect.

And Bucky wished it were real, that Steve was here - No, not here in the cold, dampness of the tent - that he was with Steve. Home. Holding him to his chest, that this wasn't a just memory, but a reality. Reliving those glorious moments with the one he loved.

Not alone, hastily tucking himself back in his pants, and turning on his side on the cold ground, hating the empty space beside him. Not anxious about being called any minute to continue their journey. Or worse, another raid. Not worrying about whether he'd ever see Steve again.

To make him smile.

To make him laugh.

To make him moan.

He missed Steve so much.

He let his thoughts drift back one last time as bliss gave way to sleep. What Steve had whispered into his skin, tucked into his side on the bus on their way to Coney Island that night.

"I love you, James."

I love you, too, Steve. So much.


End file.
